"Speaking in Rakahi"
Continued from here.
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Common sign"
Hart stepped into the doorway.
He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. He had been too caught up in what had happened thus far to have considered what might be past the door. Coming into the trial, then, he supposed he hadn't had expectations. Or rather, his expectations had been nothing. And it was nothing that he got.
Hart stepped through the doorway, and he couldn't feel, see, hear, smell, or taste. All sense had left him, and he might have smiled grimly at that had it not been so disorienting.
Because it was dark, Hart put out a hand and tried to step to the nearest wall. But there was no wall. He understood a handful of trills later that it was useless. He couldn't tell if he was standing. He couldn't feel his feet or the floor. He couldn't tell if there was a floor. He couldn't tell if there were walls. He couldn't feel his hands. If there were walls, he couldn't feel them either.
If he fell stumbling around in the dark, he wouldn't be able to feel it. But that didn't mean he couldn't hurt himself. As far as Hart could tell, it was best to do nothing.
At least he couldn't feel how much pain he was in.
But without his senses, how was he to do anything?
Hart stood for a moment, or he thought he stood, and did nothing.
And then abruptly, he could taste.
He tasted a kiss.
The kiss itself didn't last long, and Hart pulled back slightly when the taste of the kiss did the same. She was a woman, he thought, and she was here with him.
"Lust?" he asked, but he couldn't hear himself speak. He couldn't be sure he had even spoken.
But no. It hadn't been Lust.
There was only a lingering sense of taste.
Hart tasted some sort of fruit he couldn't quite recall. He tasted when it rained on the sea. He tasted desire, and sex. He tasted something like metal. He tasted a stale beer.
There were many, many tastes, and all of them his. And then there were more.
There was sunrise,
like light on skin. A flower bud,
green and bitter. A broken heart,
dull and sharp, and without description. Unknowing happiness,
like ginger candy and powdered sugar.
These were tastes Hart didn't know, and could only loosely attempt to quantify. They belonged to her.
he thought of a sudden, though he didn't know why. Her name is Caitlyn.
He almost smiled.
For moments longer, he stood and thought.
Without sight, sound, or touch, he wouldn't be able to communicate with her. And Hart needed to communicate. His abilities would be able to do it, but he was in poor condition and using them would surely hurt him later. He didn't want to have to use them again.
But he saw no other option. Wincing, he closed his eyes and looked around with his sixth sense.
Caitlyn's Need came to him and Hart paused.
She Needed to complete the trial.
The taste of everything needed Hart to let it in.
Hart frowned. Even with his mouth closed he suddenly tasted everything.
It was a million million tastes, and yet it was singular. If he thought about it, it was like paper and ink, like magic and thought and need and song. It was tastes that shouldn't have been able to be perceived and yet were.
Hart hadn't sensed its Need. Rather, in its own manner, its need had been portrayed to him. Whatever it was, the everything was here, in this place. It was with them. And it wanted him.
It wanted in.
Hart frowned more deeply, shutting his mouth tight. But he had to ask.
"What are you?" he asked the taste of everything.
"Caitlyn," he said, but he couldn't hear himself speak. And if he couldn't hear himself, could she hear him? He knew vaguely where she was because he had sensed her Need. And because of the kiss. But where
was hard to define when there was nothing.
Hart grimaced. He needed more than nothing.
But all he had was his sense of taste.
That would have to do.
Hart stood firmly where he was, though he couldn't be sure he was standing. Fuck that,
he thought, fuck being uncertain,
and with determination he brought to mind the four cardinal directions and put them in place around him.
North, he decided, was the direction he was facing; south was the opposite. West was to his left and east to his right. To each direction he assigned a taste. North was like snow, icy and fresh. South was like dirt, earthy with a hint of vegetation. West was how perfume tasted, floral and bitter and like soap. East was like dark chocolate when it melted. He made the directions go far, far away from him, until he could hardly taste them at all, to give himself a sense of distance.
Then he turned towards Caitlyn.
Caitlyn tasted of more.
There was no other way for Hart to describe it. She was northwest of him, and when he turned that way he was bombarded with many, many separate and distinct tastes. The strongest was the taste of her kiss. Lavender and cinnamon and pleasure. It was a warm, grateful taste. And just underneath it was the zing
of the taste of everything.
Hart took a half-step forward, towards the lavender and cinnamon. And then another. The taste strengthened.
She was close to him. Perhaps, for a moment, there was the taste of her lips. Thank you.
Hart smiled, though she couldn't see it. You're welcome.
They still had no true way to communicate with each other. Hart had figured out a method of navigation, but he didn't know if Caitlyn had. Besides for the brief moments when their mouths touched, Hart had to know if she was able to distinguish when he was near.
So he took a couple steps away from her.
When he turned back, she was there, the taste of lavender and cinnamon just as strong. Hart smiled at her in the dark.
She was able to tell where he was.
They could stay together, and together they could complete her trial.
Hart turned and, using his north, south, east, and west, he oriented on the taste of everything.
If they could locate it, he was sure the trial would be complete.
OOC: Forgot to say, so just added this in:
Hart used Fulfillment on Caitlyn. Because I need to keep track, that will be the 43rd use of it in this event.